


The Love of Cassie

by mademoisellePlume



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mademoisellePlume/pseuds/mademoisellePlume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Cassie, and everyone loves you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love of Cassie

**Author's Note:**

> Chromey made the request: I wish you would write a fic with happiness AND NO mind control or non-consensual drugging of any sort. :P
> 
> YMMV on if I delivered. :)

Your name is Cassie, and everyone loves you. 

Ronnie loves you. It’s very sweet, and you kiss him and you almost think of no one and nothing else but you and him. 

Your parents love you. No matter how old you get, or however high you rise in the government, they never hint that you should move out. Your mother always wakes you up at night before you begin to scream in your dreams. Your father still runs a clinic, and you can make yourself go in and help him sometimes.

The media loves you. The worst anyone ever says is gently tease your sense of fashion, always a few steps out of sync with what’s right even when you try. Every comment echoes with a voice you’ll never hear again. They mean kindness, so you grit your teeth and pretend its a smile. “Cassie’s love affair with denim continues - has anyone let Ronnie know he has competition?”

The Hork Bajir love you. There is no threat to them, politically, that you don’t scare off, protecting them with every scrap of energy you have. You spend lots of time with them as well, and you don’t wince when they show off scars from a wolf’s jaws with all the pride that such war marks are due. 

The former Taxxons love you as well, you think. They greet you when you visit their forests, and they don’t usually greet people. Visiting Arbron’s grave seems like something that should be done, and without Ax you don’t know if there’s an Andalite who would have the access to Earth and the will to make that kind of visit. 

(You wonder if Elfangor should get some sort of memorial in the construction site. Or would a more fitting memorial be yourself, the last living testament to his dying act?)

The world loves you. You help build the kind of alliances between countries that can make for a unified front to present to the universe. You’re the only one they have left to love that they can meet, touch, talk to. You saved them all, not single-handedly, but they love you with the intensity that once might have been diluted amongst all six.

You smile and you appreciate it, and you’re glad that the war broadened your shoulders so much, so you could bear all this love and keep yourself from collapsing under it.


End file.
